


Close Encounter

by mamey2422



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22964146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamey2422/pseuds/mamey2422
Summary: Two times Beth and Rio end up in tight spaces with each other. General S3 where Beth and Rio are working together again.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 7
Kudos: 124





	Close Encounter

_**The Closet** _

Going into to the house seemed like a good idea to Beth at first. As did letting herself in through an unlocked window when there was no sign of life on the inside. Now though, as she darted around in the dark, rummaging around a dirty strange house with only the flashlight on her phone, she was less sure.

Beth was so laser focused, tunnel vision for only the blue bag that Rio said not to come back without, the blue bag that should have been left in the unlocked Toyota, that she barely registered a swish of air, a familiar scent, before she was pulled by the arm across the room. A large hand clamped over her mouth, increased its pressure when she tried to scream. Beth scrambled to gain her footing, dug her heels, but she was outmatched, pulled into a bear hug and forced into a closet, awkwardly squished between jackets and a broom. 

Surprisingly, her attacker joined her, shutting the door behind them. Before she could kick or scratch or punch, he spoke.

“Don’t move, Elizabeth.”

It took a moment for Beth’s mind to stop spinning, to catch up to the familiar voice and strength of the arms around her, to realize she was in the company of Rio.

“Are you crazy?” she hissed.

Rio responded by putting his finger to his lips, shushing her. 

He’d kept Beth on a short leash ever since they reluctantly re-started their working relationship. That meant surprise drive bys or watching without her ever realizing or watching from exactly where she’d see him. Simple quality control. Beth was too impulsive, too cocky, too much of a wild card. He learned that lesson the hard way. He thought his massive power play of rising from the dead would have subdued her. Instead, all of his anger and resentment ricocheted off her and back on to him, every syllable and motion between them dripped with venom. But Rio didn’t care. Beth owed him. So, when he saw her climbing through the window he told himself he was going after her because he wasn’t willing to put his recently reclaimed empire at risk. It had nothing to do with worry or concern.

“We have company,” he whispered.

As if on cue, someone unlocked the front door. Surrounded by darkness, sound was the only sense Beth and Rio could rely on and each noise seemed to echo around the spare living room, through the thin closet door. The jangling of keys, two pairs of shuffling feet, clicking heels, the squeaky groan of a couch, a woman’s laughter, the wet sucking sounds of two people making out.

“Son of a bitch” Beth whispered as she realized what was happening. Rio told her their customers were a husband and wife. Apparently a date night had caused them to be late for the drop, one that had left them feeling amorous and lusty.

Beth tried to think of something, anything, to drown out the distinctive sounds, squeezing her eyes shut, wishing she could do the same to her ears. She focused on her breathing, resisting the urge to jump out of her skin and burst through the door. After a few inhales and exhales, she actually found unusual calm in being motionless, even in the uncomfortable reality of what was happening just feet away. Even next to Rio. When he was dead, Beth was relieved, but she also felt as if she’d been flattened, reduced to two dimensions, her world less interesting. Now that he was back, so was the dynamic color in her life that came from the frantic energy of working with him, of being near him. Like now. She tingled to the tips of her toes, her body swayed from the spirals of sensations from his fresh soapy scent, from his thighs brushing against hers, his fingers too. The intense physicality of her reaction to him stunned her.

Rio didn’t want to know exactly what was going on the other side of the door, so instead he focused on Beth who was hardly breathing, as tense as he. He knew because he was aware of her stillness. He was aware of everything about her, from her shampoo to the light press of her body against his, of her breath against his neck, fast and warm. They stood like that silent, for seconds, then minutes, until Beth moved slightly. Very slightly. Just until her body was perfectly aligned with his, hips to hips. She tilted her head back. Then a little more. Rio knew it wasn’t his imagination because he no longer felt her breath against his neck, but against his lips. Even though it was dark, he knew she was looking at him, at his mouth. And then she parted her lips, he heard and felt it more than saw it. Memories of where those lips has been on his body, and his on hers, flooded from their hiding places in his mind to tease him, taunt him. Soundlessly, Rio’s hands slid around Beth’s waist so he could pull her solidly against him, stop her from rustling, take the edge off his impulse to touch her.

A door slammed shut, jolting them back to reality. Rio released his hold on Beth. They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Beth blinked first and without a word turned to open the door. Rio put his hand over hers on the knob.

“Wait,” he said. He pulled his gun from out of his waist band. He cracked open the door and peeked through. For a few moments he waited for any sound or movement. Finally, he glanced back at Beth and nodded. They left through the same window they’d entered.

**_The Shower_ **

Work rarely went wrong for Rio. He always planned, made the right decisions about who to work with and under what circumstances. But when it did go wrong, it was usually in spectacular fashion.

Like now. He was stumbling up the stairs to his apartment. With Beth. The attack had been so sudden, so surprising, each of them was in a hazy shock. Rio from being caught off guard, from the knife that swiped his side, from the dark, sticky spot growing on his shirt. Beth from the gunshots that made her freeze, from the memory of the last time she’d been that close to real life gunshots when she’d been the one pulling the trigger.

Rio managed to get them into the safety of his car, but not before a dirty fight. One that started inside with over turned tables and broken glass and ended up outside in the pouring rain, the slamming kind that stung even through their clothes, that drenched them in a matter of seconds.

Beth’s big blue eyes stared at him, glazed, when he finally unlocked his door. Telling himself he just needed a second, Rio sunk onto his couch, took a few cleansing breaths. His head felt a little dizzy, he was freezing cold, his body numb, except for his side, which was now pulsing with pain. He barely registered Beth sagging against him before he rested his head against hers, suddenly too heavy to hold up.

The room was in total darkness when Beth woke, minutes or hours later she wasn’t sure. It took her a few blinks to remember where she was and how she got there, curled against Rio, desperately clutching him. It took another moment to register that his clothes were still soaking wet. So were hers. She could hear the tiny chattering of his teeth. His skin was pale and cold to the touch, even though the muscles beneath were reassuringly firm. Instincts kicked in through Beth’s grogginess, and she shook Rio, tried pulling him onto his feet. He resisted, still half asleep, but eventually she wrapped an arm around his waist and managed to navigate him off the couch, their shoes making rubbery squelches with every step. Rio’s apartment was a new one. She’d never been in it before, never welcomed, but she could see it had the same modern decor as his last one, the same essence of him filling the space. 

Doing her best to keep Rio upright, she got him into bathroom, turned on the hot tap of the shower before perching him on the toilet seat so she could take stock. She saw a blood streak on his face, the same red staining his hands. Gingerly, she took off his jacket, peeling it slowly off one arm then the other. Lifting the hem of his ripped black t-shirt, her fingers gently probed. The slash wasn’t deep, but it was long. The thin red line arched from his ribs to his waist, clotted with dried dark blood. Beth let steam billow from the shower as she lifted off his shirt, a wince the only sign of Rio’s awareness of what was going on.

“Come on. Get up,” Beth said softly, holding a hand beneath the spray to check the temperature.

She pulled at his arm but instead of the dead weight she anticipated, Beth was met with zero resistance. Rio stood up and peeled off the rest of his clothes in a strange autopilot of his shower routine. He then turned his attention to Beth, tugging up the hem of her shirt, cold and wet and sticking to every curve on her body. His motions were practical, not sensual. Just the efficient removal of clothes. Beth, stunned motionless by Rio’s nakedness, by his rare touch, reacted with shyness. A blush on her cheeks, lowered eyes. But she didn’t stop him when he dragged her jeans down her legs, yanking when their stiff wetness proved annoying. Her lace underwear followed. Rio smiled at the tattoo hidden by her panties. At the memory of seeing it the first time, of kissing it. His train of thought struck him as odd. Vengeance fueled him for so long he forgot things could feel so good, so right with Beth. He allowed himself to focus on the feel of her, on finding warmth.

When they were both naked, Beth was the one to take his hand and guide him into the shower, the heat of it immediately enveloping them, easing their bone deep chill. Rio greedily pulled Beth to him, and she gave in to his possessive hands, resting her cheek on his chest, her hands at his shoulders, her body plastered to his. They stayed like that, letting the water cascade over them, letting the red swirls disappear into the drain. Eventually, Beth pulled back. She reached for the soap and worked it into a lather. It smelled like Rio, the earthy, fresh scent that had become so familiar to her. She ran her soapy hands over his face, rubbing her thumb to remove the blood. It was a surprisingly intimate gesture. Too intimate, she thought, when he nudged his cheek into her palm. Her fingertips lightly brushed over his sharp cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, along his jaw, down the black ink on his neck, across his chest. She traced over the constellation of scars she’d put on his body. Shoulder, lung, spleen. Rio winced when the soap hit his cut. Beth held him in place, cleaning it, confirming its shallowness. She turned him so the water poured over his face and body, rinsing away the soap, erasing the evidence of the danger they just survived. She traced the strong muscles of his back, the hard line of his spine. She had an urge to kiss the nape of his neck, but she didn’t. Beth shut off the water in self-defense, uncomfortable with the reaction her body was having to Rio, as if it was the water that was making her mind spin, making her breathless.

Rio turned around, his eyes locking with hers. His head was bent over hers, too close. They never got close anymore. When her lips parted, Rio’s eyes flickered, his lips tightened, and he inched away from her. The surge and crash of adrenaline from the fight propelled him into this moment. The shower warmed him, and in exchange came alertness, the cold reminder of who Beth was, how she needed to exist to him. Her blue eyes looked at him sympathetically, but he remembered those were the same eyes that looked straight him as she pulled the trigger three times.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection as he stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a towel. Rio immediately regretted the loss of heat, but felt an immediate urge to put as much distance between him and Beth as possible.

Beth, recovering from the sudden pivot in Rio’s demeanor, followed, mirrored his movements with a towel of her own.

“Do you have bandages? The butterfly kind? You should use them,” Beth said, nodding toward his cut.

“l’ll be fine. I’ve survived worse.”

His words hit Beth like a punch in the gut. Their sharpness, their implication, their boomerang into the past, filled the small space between them with pain and anger and guilt. And just like that, each of them raised up their invisible armor.


End file.
